mom

touched

It's past nine. I'm used up, fall into bed. Gus upstairs in his own
world, winding down. Jake and Tucker still deep in play. I maintain
just enough conciousness to know no one is unhappy or in need, beyond
that I am rock. I am lump. Eventually, the boy voices still. Jacob
sleeps. Tucker, left on his own, comes to me. He climbs over me onto my
bed. His hands press (my face, my shoulder, my ribs) as he climbs. The
feel of it lingers (the press of Tucker) as he burrows down behind me,
continuing the game's narrative in a chattering whisper. It soaks
through the haze of my exhaustion (the memory of the press of Tucker).
Impersonal as sunlight. Sweet beyond belief.